Elstro

A little, old, black car in a sea of samey, silver Euroblobs...epitomises my stance on motoring

I have never been one to live by certain rules. I may not be an anarachist (disappointingly), maybe because I’m too much of a subservient coward, but there are certain ways in which I can comfortably defy the rules, and that is on the road.

And no, I don’t mean driving like a tosser or putting others at risk. Motoring in the 21st Century is very different to how it was fifty years ago. Back then, you were lucky if you had your own car, especially at a young age, and even then, there was little choice. You had to have a decrepit old Austin Seven whilst everyone else sneered at you from behind the wheel of their brand new Farinas. The stereotypical first car image is of an old banger even nowadays, though it is becoming less and less prevalent.

Most of my peers at school drove brand new or fairly-new cars. At J-reg, my then car was one of the oldest machines parked outside the school, and my God did I get shit for it. But I didn’t care. As a sentimental petrolhead, I was happy with my 4-speed, manual-choked Nova whilst everyone else ponced about in identikit Puntos and Polos. It was a small statement of difference.

Every car seems to come with their own set of rules, almost like the Law Of The Playground. It is unwritten yet everyone seems to follow it. Think of the reps in their Audi A4 TDIs, tailgating innocent motorway drivers, or perhaps the middle-class mother at the wheel of her vulgar Chelsea Tractor despite living in deepest surburbia. Yeah, it is stereotyping to the max, but you can see what I mean.

Even driving an elderly Vauxhall Nova comes with a heavy stigma. Novaloader, chav, barry, boy racer…blah blah blah. I’ve heard it all. And the contempt with which some drivers treat me on the road is rather amusing. My car is noisy, a little smoky in the cold, small, and carries a 21-year-old plate. Highly offensive to the arrogant and the badge-obsessed – being stuck behind an Eighties rattletrap with rusty rear arches? No way bitch.

As we have seen cars progress technologically and become more affordable – the car market is more demanding than ever these days; with crossovers, so many ‘classes’ and magazines, all telling us what cars to buy. Right now, driving an old car is seen as Scroogelike, or simply plain ignorant. After all, with climate change and global warming, we should all be driving hybrids and caring for the environment. Hence the infuriating scrappage scheme. Basically, for a £2000 incentive, you could trade in your old wreck for a shiny new Kia Picanto for a snip of the original RRP. I followed in various magazines and online, and was horrified to see what people were chucking away in order to get the latest new Eurobox to impress the Joneses – one person traded in a rare 1960s Bond Equipe for some bland generic hatchback. To me, that is sacrilege. Why? Valuable pieces of history were lost in this heavy-handed attempt by the government to tells us what to do.

The photograph, taken this morning, illustrates how I feel about the scrappage scheme. What am I doing in my old shed when I could have it scrapped and get 2k from the government so I can fit in with the other silver modern cars around me. Must fit in. Must care for the environment. Must be like everybody else and drive a boring modern car, full of technical wizardry (that always costs a fortune to fix if it goes wrong) that I don’t really need. Just so I can impress people. My car might say “skinflint” to some, “chav” to others, “total serf” to the snobs, “tree murderer” to environmentalists….it goes on. What statement my car makes about me is thus:  I will drive what the hell I want, sod what people think. My car is big enough to carry my paraphernalia, most of the time there’s jsut me in it, and it’s simple to fix when it goes wrong. I don’t need fancy gadgetry to help me drive. So I don’t have any. It costs peanuts to run – I’m no high-flyer and need to have something I can afford to fix. Plus my car has character – it represents the ways of the world when I was very young and I like that. And an unmolested Nova is becoming a rare beast these days. So that also works in my favour. Sure you can laugh at me in my old wreck when it breaks down. You can call Novas shit because you need a flash car to boost your self esteem. I don’t CARE.

Nissan Micra (K11) - Like last week, not a bad or offensive car. I just wouldn't be seen dead in one.

There’s no doubting that the second-generation Micra is a perfectly reasonable automobile. It is popular with drivers of all age groups, the Nissan badge ensures solidity, longetivity, dependability and the ultimate in user-friendliness. And it’s tiny dimensions make it cute and cuddly. So what’s wrong with it?

The K11 wowed the world with its cute bubbly looks, would you believe, as far back as 1992 – considering most manufacturers’ offerings were still on the square and boxy side, no wonder it went down so well. Here was a supermini that looked up-to-the-minute and would promise reliability and be virtually idiot-proof to drive at the same time. It went out of production in 2003, so eleven years in sale must have been a good thing.

However, it wasn’t exactly….exciting. A lot of cars from the Far East have been somewhat unfairly branded ‘white goods’, cars built purely to make money, not to make driving more enjoyable. Mainly this has been levelled at machines from Korea, particularly Hyundai and Kia, but right from the early days of Oriental metal being sold here, the likes of Nissan, Honda etc were seen as the choice for the pragmatist, those who wanted to watch the pennies rather than worry about image. Indeed, even today with their Space Age Civic and screaming Type-R hot hatches, Honda are still stereotyped as the car of choice for Arthur and Doris at number 42 for little trips to the corner shop once a week.

Let’s take a look at how Nissan were doing back in 1992, when the K11 Micra was unleashed. They had just been forced to withdraw the Skyline GT-R from competition because it’s power and speed were annihilating the competition. See, this is what I don’t understand. Nissan had the ability to produce impressive and exciting supercars – the GT-R was nicknamed ‘Godzilla’ Down Under due to its brute force on the track. Okay, so they were making the power by turbocharging the engine to within an inch of its life and stuffing it with computers, but still, there is an undeniable racing pedigree. Plus the BTCC was reaching its peak in the UK and the ultra-dull Primera saloon was doing well at the hands of Kieth O’Dor and was actually considered a fine driver’s car underneath its anodyne bodywork, despite most ending up as minicabs. So why couldn’t this verve filter down into their smallest offering?

I have never driven a Micra, by the way. I have refused to set foot in one. I would be bored to tears for one, and also, even though I’m hardly He-man, I would find being seen in one somewhat emasculating. Despite my hatred of jaded gender stereotyping, it is a rather effeminate set of wheels.

Age doesn’t seem to have given older Micras character, (the preceding K10 model has a fair bit of 80s charm about it now and is one of the best survivors of the decade still on the road) because the Nineties spelled the beginning of technology dictating how cars were designed. Micras have rarely been used in competition, and I can’t imagine there’s a thriving owner’s club. They epitomise the cheap, disposable motor, and because so many were made and sold in their 11-year lifespan, scrapping one won’t affect the numbers much.

So this is why I would never own one. It is a bit of a white good. And some still think Nissan means tinny old Datsun.

1) The Pretenders – I’ll Stand By You

An undisputed classic – Hynde’s haunting vocals and emotive lyrics make this one of the ultimate love ballads.

2) Blondie – Dreaming

Epitome of New Wave (AKA the more marketable incarnation of punk). Whilst the lyrics are a touch more pop than punk, Clem Burke’s irrepressible talent at drumming ensures this is one memorable Blondie tune.

3) Blondie – X Offender

Early Blondie at their punky best. May lack the heavy guitar but let us consider that theyw ere made to change the title from Sex Offender that this is a good slice of CBGBs.

4) Green Day – Good Riddance (Time Of Your Life)

Perhaps on here because this is the one song I can consistently sing in almost perfect pitch, proved that even in their Nimrod era, Billie Joe and the lads were capable of something different.

5) Blondie – Detroit 442

What’s not to like about these 2 and a half minutes of pure punk? YouTube the video…it’s Debbie Harry in stockings, a leather gilet and not much else…and not to mention ripping guitars.

6) Bangles – Walk Like An Egyptian

An all-female rock band that play their own instruments….still rare these days. Plus this is one of the most infectious tunes of Thatcher’s day.

1980 Vauxhall Royale Coupe

Anyone under the age of 29 has most probably never heard of one of these. And the concept of a glamorous Vauxhall is still alien to many.

The Royale was a rebadged Opel Senator A, the coupe being the griffin-badged Monza, because the Opel marque wasn’t as well-established, but oddly, the Opel versions were also sold here. Aussies may also recognise the frontal styling, because the Royale/Senator was also sold down under as the first-generation Holden Commodore, still the best-selling Aussie car today. The Royale was an old-fashioned saloon, rear-wheel driven with thudding straight-six engines up front.

Holden models, which were built locally, had different front, rear and interior treatments, with local drivetrain options, including Holden’s 3.3 Inline 6 cyl, 4.2 Litre and 5.0 Litre V8 engine options.

1980 Holden VB Commodore saloon: Notice any resemblance?

The Royale oozes Eighties charm – this was a refined car for those managerial types that had made it, and there are hints of other contemporary Vauxhalls in the styling too – those blocky headlamps with big orange blinkers look just like the Mk1 Astra and Nova, and the crisp, straight lines have more than a hint of the MkII Cavalier about them, especially in Coupe form. Plus the slight V in the frontal styling that has been present in most Vauxhall models since the 1910s, even in the current range, if you look carefully. Inside you’ll find a brown dahsboard and big, squashy, comfy velour seats and all the posh gadgetry you could ever need. The Coupe, especially its Opel Monza GSE sister, still has style in spades.

1981 Royale saloon - when you could be loaded, still drive a Vauxhall and be proud..

It also harks back to a different era, when even the most common, mainstream manufacturers had a luxury car in their ranges – remember the Ford Granada? These days, with such high standards and more demanding customers, D-sector family saloons are built like luxury cars, so this really is a Vauxhall from another time. Stick a Spandau Ballet tape in the cassette player (or for the truly weird, some of Thatcher’s more rousing speeches) and totally immerse yourself in the decade of the nouveaux riche.

Of course, the main reason for my wanting one of these is the cool factor – it’s certainly a way to stand out from the crowd, and most people will ask you what it is. Those more in the know will probably question why you bought an old Luton barge, but take them for a spin in a Royale 3000 Coupe and they’ll soon shut up. Old-school fun for not too much money. Brilliant.

I realise this belongs in the recipes section of the site, but I feel no other content would be appropiate for today. I made my first-ever Christmas cake today, so here is the recipe, given to me from my mom:

Blondie. Everyone knows of them. That floppy-haired bunch of  young punks headed by possibly the world’s most perfect female specimen – Deborah Harry. A feisty frontwoman with skunk-blonde locks, cheekbones you could grate parmesan off and a killer sneer – Blondie were always tipped for great things.

“There’s a lot of Blondie lookalikes, and a lot of Blondie soundalikes….but noone will ever be Debbie” – Mike Chapman, former producer, 2006

Never a truer word spoken. I won’t go too much into their history but will fill afew gaps for the uninformed.

The band formed in 1975 in the up-and-coming punk scene, based in the legendary CBGB’s club in New York. They, along with acts such as The Ramones, Patti Smith, Television, The Cars and the Talking Heads were rebelling against the establishment, big style. Originally they were called the Angel And The Snake and the brainchild of guitarist Chris Stein. The original line-up was Harry, Stein, bassist Gary Valentine, keyboardist Jimmy Destri, and drummer extraordinaire and Keith Moon wannabe, Clem Burke. Never taken seriously as a punk rock band by some due to Harry’s divine beauty and Stein’s talent for catchy hooks, Plastic Letters, their 1977 follow-up to their self-titled debut, epitomises their pop-punk abilities to perfection.

If you think of a Blondie album, you almost always think of 1978′s platinum-selling Parallel Lines – full of the old favourites such as Heart of Glass, One Way Or Another, Hanging On The Telephone and Sunday Girl. All classics, no denying it, but for the punk fan, this album is simply too polished and poppy (perhaps One Way.., filler Will Anything Happen? and Hanging.. have more of an edge) to convey their anger at  a 1970s world. And Heart of Glass, the song that catapulted them into the mainstream, is perhaps the only Blondie song, that I, as a diehard fan, dislike. I just believe that their then-producer, Mike Chapman diluted the band’s raw, anarchic ethos at the expense of making them popular. Their contemporaries and original fans were shocked – a punk band going disco?

Plastic Letters - 1977

Which brings me to Plastic Letters. Produced by Richard Gottehrer in 1977. The cover art sets the gloriously trashy tone for the album. The song titles speak for themselves – Fan Mail, Youth Nabbed As Sniper, Detroit 442,  Contact In Red Square, Cautious Lip, I Didn’t Have The Nerve To Say No – most of them sound like tabloid headlines. And there’s Debbie in shocking pink plastic with Jimmy puffing on a spliff (probably – this was the CBGB lot) next to a cop car. Definitely not pretty-boy pop to impress your mom and dad with.

I’m going to have to be tediously formulaic now and review each track in the order on the back (except the bonuses from various remasters); most of the songs are carryovers from the 1976 debut album. Most are less than 3 minutes long in the true punk style.

Side one

1. “Fan Mail” (Jimmy Destri) – 2:38
   An undulating, snarling homage to the celebrity stalker. Destri’s artistry with the synthesiser, and Harry’s bratty vocal – one of their most underrated efforts.
2. “Denis” (Neil Levenson) – 2:19
   Perfect pop – a cover of 1960s doo-wop hit “Denise” by Randy And The Rainbows. Debbie Harry’s sweet yet knowing vocals and Burke’s stomping drums combined with Levenson’s immensely catchy melody made this the hit that it was. And Harry in nothing but a swimsuit and a cheeky glint in her eye in the music video helped too…
3. “Bermuda Triangle Blues (Flight 45)” (Chris Stein) – 2:49
   Slow, haunting ballad. Simple instrument set up and Harry sings a soothing, yet eerie higher-pitch lullaby  that will make the hairs on the back of your neck stand up.
4. “Youth Nabbed as Sniper” (Stein) – 3:00
   This should appear on every punk compilation album going, even for its stark contrast with the preceding track. Nihilstic tale of a suicidal teenage murderer. Even the lyrics wouldn’t be out of place on an emo kid’s MySpace :
   ‘Fear causes some to live, others die real cool’ . One of their best songs ever.
5. “Contact in Red Square” (Destri) – 2:01
   Perfect example of Blondie humour – opens with a James Bond-esque theme.
6. “(I’m Always Touched By Your) Presence, Dear” (Gary Valentine) – 2:43
   Second of the early hits, penned by departed-by-this-time former bassist Valentine. Raw guitar riffs that combine with Harry’s laidback  warbling provide a surprisingly easy on the ear pop melody. Early pop punk at its finest.
7. “I’m on E” (Debbie Harry, Stein) – 2:13
   Lyrically very simple, and just look at the title – shameless. Punk in attitude if not quite execution, a surprisingly unmemorable track, shame considering its daring glorification of the Class A drug.
8. “I Didn’t Have the Nerve to Say No” (Destri, Harry) – 2:51
   ‘You got ants in your pants!’ screams Harry without warning to open this sneering example of catchy punk rock. Another Blondie classic that really deserves more attention.
9. “Love at the Pier” (Harry) – 2:27
   Just to show how forward-thinking this band was in the early days, this is about a gay hook-up, and Harry’s memorable 1977 Musikladen performance of this song, mincing across the stage and rubbing her pert bottom sums up the track completely. Bratty, shameless and utter punk paradise.
10. “No Imagination” (Destri) – 2:56
    Slow and a little dull, not Jimmy’s best effort. The title causes it to fall flat on its face. Skip this one.
11. “Kidnapper” (Destri) – 2:37
    A comical and tightly-played tribute to 1950s rockabilly. An early example of the band’s penchant for trying every genre going.
12. “Detroit 442″ (Destri, Stein) – 2:28
    I urge the sceptical punk fans out there to download this one at once. A full-blown attack  - guitars ripping wild, Clem Burk hammering out a storm on the drums (Tre Cool would be proud) and Harry spits and snarls the lyrics at you. Best track on the album and was criminally only released as a B-side.  Anyone who says Blondie were not punk should give this one a go.
13. “Cautious Lip” (Stein, Ronnie Toast) – 4:24
    A little slow, similar in vein to “No Imagination”, unsettlingly disjointed and is punctured by Harry’s primal scream as the riffs build to a rapid climax. Not bad but a touch too long.

I once made a Blondie compilation tailored to fans of the heavier variety of punk, which mostly had content from this album and 1979′s Eat To The Beat on it. Yeah, Blondie were masters of their art, and made some pop classics, but Plastic Letters is considered by fans the truest to their CBGB roots. Not to say Parallel Lines is a bad album, far from it in fact, but a different side to the band is showcased here.

Bit late to be writing about today’s news with only 20 minutes left of today, but oh well, shit happens.

In Falmouth, which i thought was a reasonably respectable town, three pushy chav mothers are pushing their EIGHT-year-old daughters to dress like Lady Gaga to entertain the locals at parties. Now I know Ms G is about liberation and being yourself, but there is a limit – since when has it been the norm for little girls to dress in clothes that, at their age, are frankly obscene. Why is it such a crime to let kids be kids these days?

The article in today’s sun makes for sad reading:

“Known as the Mini GaGas, Shenna and Charlie have found fame around their local town of Falmouth, Cornwall, as they don blonde wigs, bikinis and even GaGa’s highly controversial meat dress to perform.

Their mums – along with Charlie’s sister Haylee, 20, who acts as manager – charge between £30 to £60 for the girls to perform..”

Read more: http://www.thesun.co.uk/sol/homepage/features/3235689/Shocking-Lady-GaGa-tribute-act-girls-aged-8-and-9.html#ixzz15m6thQjt“

And you thought child beauty contests bordered on the macabre. Why are these shallow, vacuous women allowed to have kids? It’s great to nurture your kids talents, encourage them even. And since when was it right to wheel them out like cattle for thirty spoondolicks to line your greedy pockets?!

When I was 8, yeah OK, I used to sing my gay little heart out to the Spice Girls and other Nineties pop songs using a chunky Crayola felt tip as a microphone. But I wanted to be something worthy when I grew up (author and illustrator..OK?).  Kids in my class wanted to be all sorts when they wanted to grow up. It goes without saying, that both these poor, brainwashed girls say they want to be on The X Factor or work as models when they grow up. Yawn. Mind you looking at the mothers and the one girl’s smug older sister (who, as previously mentioned, is the manager), it’s not surprising they’re on a destructive path to becoming selfish, spoilt little princesses who value nothing in the world.

Rant over.

Match made in heaven?

This segment isn’t just about offensive cars. I actually really like the Arna, and it has a lot going for it.

Jeremy Clarkson once said “you can never claim to be a true petrolhead unless you’ve owned an Alfa”, and this has some truth. Alfa Romeos represent the flair, passion and soul of Italy, the glamour and style associated with the nation is encapsualted in the Milenese saloons. Especially in Rosso.

However, this much-maligned hatchback was the first and only offspring of a short and acrimonious marriage between Alfa and Nissan. (the car’s name stood for Alfa Romeo Nissan Autoveicoli) In fact this car is so hated that alfisti refuse to even talk about it. Many blogs and articles have been written slagging this car, and rightly so.

The Arna was launched in 1983 to replace the long-lived and much-revered Alfasud hatchback, with its admittedly deserved reputation for rusting into the ground. The new venture decided to transplant the front suspension, transmission and rasping boxer engines from the ‘Sud into Nissan’s top-selling Cherry hatchback (called the Pulsar in some countries to really confuse people!). On paper, this was a winning idea.  The Japanese could bring their nous for reliability and build quality to the passion and verve of Italian cars and combine both in this new product.

In theory, this could have worked. However, predictably, it flopped. Big style. Alfisti loathed the black plastic interior and boxy, soul-less, designed-by-accountants styling of the car, and the pragmatists hated the porous bodywork and tendency for parts to either stop working completely or snap off en route to the shops. In other words, the worst stereotypical qualities for Japanese and Italian cars respectively. On the plus side, though, it brought the Alfa badge to  a new range of customers, plus the spine-tingling growl of the eager flat-four engines, and you cannot argue with the practicality and user-friendliness of the Cherry’s design.

However, I would steer clear of an Arna, as it is in no way a cheap means of counting yourself a true petrolhead. You will be sneered at by Alfa owners, and you will be forever kicking the tyres as it once again goes bang on the side of the road.

Just to compare:

In the Nissan corner - we have the Cherry. Frumpy, yes. Boring, yes. Ugly? possibly. But well-made with bombproof engines, electrics and mechanicals.

And in the Alfa corner - the Alfasud. Cute, curvy, desirable. Sonorous engines and nippy handling, combined with Italian soul. But try finding one in Auto Trader!

1968 Lola T70 MkIIIB

I don’t really need to write too much of an introspective on why I’d like to own one of these. Just look at it. A fine English-built steed, better looking than many Ferraris of the era and packing far more of a punch underneath those flowing lines.

The Lola T70 was built for enduro racing, perhaps at its most popular in the mid to late 1960s. It was developed by in 1965 in the UK by Eric Broadley’s marque. In 1966, the Mk II version (AKA the Spyder) with a Chevrolet V8 engine was popular in the CanAm series, winning five of six races during the year. The Can-Am series was famous for what were termed “big-bangers”, which I don’t really need to explain what it means.

Despite its short-lived success in the CanAm series, the T70 was quite popular, with more than 100 examples of the vehicle being built in 3 versions. The first version was the Spyder, joined by the Coupé, also called the Mk III, and a slightly updated version (noticeable only by its slightly different frontal styling), the Mk IIIB. The MkIIIB is the classic example of the breed, and some 40 years after they first raced, these fierce beasts are still thrilling race fans all over the world in series such as the World Sportscar Masters.

The T70 MkIIIB is powered by a 5-litre small-block Chevy V8, usually unsilenced, so if you warmed the engine up on one, you’d create tremors six miles away and frighten small children. The sound is automotive porn to hear, and hearing a T70 at full cry down a straight, you know that it means business.

An experimental T70 was powered by the handmade 5340cc Aston Martin V8, making it an all-British machine in 1967, but notorious overheating and unreliability killed it.

Many T70s played the roles of far more valuable Ferraris and Porsches in the Steve McQueen film LeMans, somewhat of a sacrilege when these cars have far more sex appeal than the me-too Ferraris. The George Lucas cult flick THX-1138 also used heavily-modified T70s.

Why would you want a Ferrari over one of these British beasts?

However, the T70 is just another classic example of thunderous Anglo-American hybrids to hit the tracks in the Sixties – lets not forget please, the AC Cobra, despite its LA glamour, was just a humble and classically English 2-seater AC Ace with a big Ford V8, and the Sunbeam Tiger, a Ford-motivated Alpine. Even the Brummies were at it – the Rover P5, P6 and painfully beautiful SD1 V8s were powered by America – the Rover V8 was actually a Buick design. The flat capster’s favourite, the Morgan Plus 8 is often forgotten in this company due to its image and archaic design, but tuned Plus 8s rule the roost on the hills, with 5-litres plus of Buick/Rover grunt in some cases.

So why would I like to own a T70? Simple. Gorgeous poster-boy styling, growling V8 engine, the glamour of the 1960s, long and illustrious competition bloodline, phenomenal speed that would show today’s elite a thing or two, and the fact that it is British. See, occasionally we do things right too.